


An Oath in the Stitches

by BrandybuckPuck



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 22:18:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5392361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrandybuckPuck/pseuds/BrandybuckPuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is a truth universally acknowledged that a Hobbit celebrating Yuletide is in need of a good lie down. At least, that's what Bilbo feels. Planning the first gift exchange of Erebor's first Yule-ish celebrations has proved much more stressful than previous years of true Yuletide in the Shire. Though, Bilbo really has no one to blame but himself. Shenanigans ensue as Bilbo decides to do something quite daring and Thorin is woefully uninformed until the last moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Oath in the Stitches

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bubbysbub](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubbysbub/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy, bubbysbub!

Thorin looked up from the guild report that he had been reading when the sound of a pen being violently scratched against parchment and a frustrated huff came from the other side of the Company common room. If Thorin squinted, he might have been able to make out the shape of a Hobbit hunched over a dying candle stub, scribbling with a frown, deep in thought. 

The Hobbit had rejected the numerous admonishments from the Company to come and join them by the fire, instead of curling himself up in the corner.

“What are ye’ workin’ on that’s such a secret?” Bofur had asked.

“If I told you, it would cease to be a secret, now wouldn’t it?” Bilbo had muttered. 

“Come on Master Boggins, Fíli doesn’t smell that bad, please come sit with us,” Kíli had shouted from where he was lounging next to the fire. His efforts were met with a pillow to the gut from his brother and an eye roll from Bilbo. 

The fire was still crackling but the chill of winter outside the mountain could not be fully expelled from the stone. Sitting near the carved-out fireplace offered just enough comfort despite the chill, but Bilbo had positioned himself far enough away that in the dim light Thorin could see tendrils of the Hobbit’s breath with each exhale. 

Thorin frowned. He did not want to pester the Hobbit if he wished for privacy, but seeing the Hobbit cold and alone did not sit well with him. 

He set his papers down and stood with a stretch. Most of the Company had already departed to their rooms for the night, and those that remained were dozing in chairs near the fire, piled with furs. The mountain had grown colder as the first snowfall of the season had covered Erebor and Dale with a thick blanket of crisp snow, and the Dwarves had begun fitting the Mountain with winter provisions. But even this had not helped Thorin’s mission to convince Bilbo to wear “some kind, _any kind_ of footwear, for the love of Mahal before your feet freeze”.

As it were, as Thorin approached Bilbo, still glaring at the same piece of parchment, he could see the Hobbit had tried and failed to make a rather small fur cover his entire body, so that his feet remained uncovered. Though Thorin knew Bilbo would insist, rather defensively, that the curly fur atop his feet was more than adequate at keeping him warm, it still worried Thorin to no end.

“Whatever it is you are so concerned about, I hope it is worth losing feeling in your feet,” Thorin said, keeping his voice low so as not to startle him or wake any of the others. Nevertheless, Bilbo yelped and quickly flipped the parchment over so that whatever he was writing was hidden from Thorin, before glaring up at the Dwarf.

“Excuse you,” Bilbo said with a sniff, pressing the parchment to his chest, apparently worried that Thorin had the ability to read through parchment. “I don’t see how my feet are any of your concern so if you could kindly leave me in peace.”

“I apologize if my concern for your wellbeing is irritating,” Thorin retorted defensively. “But it is much warmer by the fire, I simply thought you would like to move a bit closer.”

Bilbo sighed and his shoulders drooped slightly. He dropped the quill in his hand and rubbed his eyes with the heel of one hand, still clutching the parchment to his chest with the other. 

“I’m sorry Thorin, I know you mean well,” Bilbo said tiredly. “I just can’t seem to finish this and I’m running out of time.”

“May I ask what it is that has kept you from us tonight?” Thorin questioned as Bilbo stood and pulled the too-small fur tighter around his shoulders. Thorin moved to place his own thick coat around the Hobbit’s shoulders before remembering that he had taken it off some time ago. 

“I’m trying to decide on the list of Yule gifts for everyone, but it has proved more challenging than I had expected.” Bilbo rubbed the back of his neck as he rolled it languidly. Thorin’s eyes dropped to the expanse of Bilbo’s arched neck, the hint of a collarbone beneath the corners of the blanket, and he forced his gaze to return to Bilbo’s face. 

He cleared his throat once before realizing that Bilbo was waiting for some kind of response.

“Yool?” Thorin repeated, trying to recall if that word held any meaning to him. He vaguely remembered hearing the word from Bilbo during one of Ori’s many sessions of intensive questioning of Hobbit culture along the Quest, but couldn’t recall the details.

Bilbo shook his head with a lopsided smile at Thorin’s attempt.

“Yule,” he clarified. “A festival held in the Shire during Midwinter to celebrate the waning of one year and the waxing of the next. Like with most other Hobbit celebrations there are multiple days of feasting.”

“I am not surprised,” Thorin said with a smile. 

“But there is also the tradition of giving gifts to family and loved ones and,” Bilbo stopped, looking past Thorin at the Dwarves lounging around the fire, fast asleep. “Well… of course I know this is not a Dwarven celebration. But I would like to share this with you lot, if I may.”

Thorin gazed down at Bilbo, feeling a warmth spread through him, more satisfying and comforting than any roaring fire had ever afforded him, and he smiled.

“It would be an honor, Bilbo,” Thorin assured, keeping his voice barely over a whisper, though he feared it still betrayed the depths of his adoration, something he constantly worried might cause the Hobbit discomfort. 

But Bilbo’s answering smile was bright enough to expel Thorin’s distress.

“Right, well. I’m glad,” Bilbo said. “But first I need to finish this blasted list or I’ll have ruined Erebor’s first Yule before it has even begun.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Thorin asked, hoping Bilbo might allow him to be involved in this, whatever _this_ was. Whatever was important to Bilbo, Thorin felt deserved the attention of the entire kingdom. 

Bilbo scoffed. “I’m hardly going to let you help me come up with an idea for your own gift, what kind of gift-giver would I be!”

“Bilbo, there is no need for you to give me a gift,” Thorin frowned. “You have already given me far more than I deserve.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. 

“You see, this is why I didn’t come to you with this in the first place, I knew you would feel unnecessarily guilty and refuse to let me do this properly. As if I wouldn’t be giving you a gift! If you don’t think I’m going to include you in this list then you are grievously mistaken, Thorin Oakenshield, and I suggest you accept that!” Bilbo hissed, stepping closer to Thorin and wagging a finger at him.

Thorin raised his hands in surrender. 

“I apologize, Master Baggins. I would not wish to do anything to tarnish this Yule. But anything you give me… it will be cherished.”

Bilbo blinked up at Thorin, clearly surprised that he had acquiesced so easily. 

“Thorin, I…” Bilbo’s response was cut off by something striking deftly against the back of Thorin’s head. Thorin reacted in a the blink of an eye, moving forward without hesitation to shield Bilbo. 

“Oof!” Bilbo squeaked indignantly, and Thorin wheeled around to face down the threat. The threat now lying at his feet. The threat being a pillow.

“Un-fuckin-believable,” Dwalin said glaring at the pair of them. “Would both of you sod off and let us sleep?”

Thorin picked up the pillow with a glare, tossing it back at Dwalin with a bit more force than necessary, only to have it thrown right back into his face.

“Sorry, sorry,” Bilbo whispered, still blocked from Dwalin’s attack by Thorin’s body. “I was about to head my room anyway. Goodnight.” 

“I will join you,” Thorin said, tucking the pillow under his arm, ignoring the continued grumbling from Dwalin. For a moment he was confused at the deep blush had spread across Bilbo’s cheeks until he realized how his words could have been construed.

_Oh Mahal._

“That is to say… I mean, not join you…” Thorin wondered, perhaps if he tried hard enough, he might just be able to sink into the stone beneath him and disappear from Arda altogether. Fíli could take his place as King, Balin would just need to prepare him on the go… 

“Leave, right now,” Dwalin growled, without opening his eyes. “Or I start removing limbs.”

“Come, I don’t wish to find out what he’ll throw once he runs out of pillows,” Bilbo said, rolling up the parchment and tossing the fur from around his shoulders on top of the nearest Dwarf. 

They left the Company’s common room in silence, Bilbo’s blush still coloring his cheeks and down his neck and Thorin certainly did _not_ need to find it so becoming. He had never thought seeing another person blush could make his throat dry, yet here he was, wondering what the blush would look like if it was a bit deeper, with a bit less material obstructing Thorin’s view. 

“Well, this is where I leave you,” Bilbo’s voice pulled Thorin out of his thoughts. “Do you have a busy day tomorrow?” 

To be fair, all of Thorin’s days were ridiculously busy. There was barely a moment to catch his breath, and there were nights Thorin fell into bed without the energy left to remove even his boots. But he took comfort in knowing the exhaustion he felt at the end of the day was not the hopeless fatigue he came to know in exile. And the moments Thorin spent in Bilbo’s company, discussing the day’s events or simply smoking a pipe together in silence, had become something Thorin wasn’t willing to give up. 

“If my councilors decide to behave themselves tomorrow then it shouldn’t be unbearably busy, no,” Thorin replied, trying his damndest to sound nonchalant while his stomach was already flipping childishly at the prospect of spending time with Bilbo tomorrow. “I would like to hear more about this Yule, if you are free in the afternoon?”

“Hmm, I’ll have to shuffle my busy schedule around, but I think I can fit you in,” Bilbo grinned and Thorin needed to leave _right now_ before he did something really stupid like grab Bilbo’s face and kiss those smiling lips, see what that grin would taste like against his own.

“You know, I haven’t even asked,” Bilbo said with a start. “Ori mentioned something during the Quest, but my memory must be fading in my old age.”

Thorin snorted.

“Do Dwarves have any celebrations or holidays this time of year?”

“ _Akhluma’râsu_ ,” Thorin answered.

“Bless you,” Bilbo teased, the grin returning. Thorin rolled his eyes.

“You’re hilarious,” Thorin said dryly.

“It’s one of my many qualities, I’m quite aware,” Bilbo quirked an eyebrow. 

“Indeed it is,” Thorin smiled, and he felt himself leaning in a bit closer before coming to his senses and taking a step back. 

The light from the the torches soldered to the stone cast a warm, flickering light across Bilbo’s face and curls.

 _Mahal, you are so beautiful Bilbo._ He could have said it out loud. He could have admitted everything, let the words he had held on his tongue for so long spill out in one, rushed breath. It would be so easy, _I love you, I love you, I love you._ Thorin could have dropped to his knees and pressed Bilbo’s hands to his face, whispered the words into the skin of his palm.

But instead, Thorin bowed his head and cursed his foolish, selfish heart.

“Sleep well, Master Baggins,” he said, his voice coming out too gruff. The mirth in Bilbo’s eyes disappeared and Thorin could see confusion flash across his face. Bilbo’s shoulders dropped slightly before he returned the bow stiffly.

“And you, King Thorin,” he replied, far too formally, and Thorin’s heart sank. He watched Bilbo turn away and walk down the pathway quickly, arms crossed tight against the cold of the mountain. He didn’t look back once, though Thorin watched until Bilbo turned the corner, and he was left alone in a dimly lit pathway, staring at an empty corridor, wondering how he managed yet again to muss things up so spectacularly. 

He hung his head with a sigh, scrubbing his hands over his face in frustration before turning down the next passageway towards the Royal Chambers. 

 

He heard the footsteps behind him before Dwalin’s voice called out to him.

“I was half expectin' to see the Hobbit walkin' down this passageway,” Thorin groaned and sped up his steps. His rooms weren’t that far away. If he started sprinting now he could probably get the door shut before Dwalin reached it and he wouldn’t have to hear his best friend tell him what he already knew; that Thorin was a fool in love and it was pathetic to watch.

“But I guess undressin' each other with yer eyes is as far as yer gonna get this week,” Dwalin continued and Thorin nearly tripped on own feet.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Dwalin,” Thorin grumbled, knowing full well what Dwalin was talking about, as usual. “It’s late and I am tired. I’m sure you will be more than happy to continue this tomorrow, but until then go away.”

“Thorin, I’m serious,” Dwalin said and Thorin stopped walking to face his friend. “I’ve never seen ye like this and I’m not about to sit around an' watch ye pine away like a fool. Just tell Bilbo how ye feel and be done with it. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Thorin shot him a look and Dwalin threw his hands in the air in frustration.

“Thorin, for Mahal’s sake, would ye open yer eyes for one second and see what’s right in front of ye?!”

“I am Dwalin,” Thorin growled, pacing the width of the passageway. “That’s the problem. He does not… he could not… how could he? After everything? How could I possibly ask anything more than the friendship the has already given me?”

“Ach, Thorin, would ye shut yer royal gob for one second and see reason?” Dwalin caught Thorin’s shoulder with one arm and yanked hard enough to force Thorin to face him. “Just _talk_ to him. I’m not asking you to rip his clothes off,” Dwalin held up a hand to cut off Thorin’s protesting. “Just stop gettin in your own way, yeah? Let yerself have somethin ye want. I know this sounds insane for ye, but ye could let yerself be happy fer once in yer life without worryin about it all goin to shit.”

“I do let myself be happy,” Thorin mumbled, but he dropped his gaze to the floor. 

“No. Ye don’t,” Dwalin insisted, but he gave Thorin’s shoulder a squeeze. “Yer a bloody fool sometimes, Thorin. But so’s the Hobbit, apparently if he’s dim enough to fall in love with a clot head like you.”

Dwalin grinned at Thorin’s glare.

“He’s not…”

“Yes he is,” Dwalin shook Thorin. “Thorin, ye…”

Dwalin cleared his throat.

“Ye mean a lot to me, ye shit head,” he said gruffly. “I just want ye to be happy.”

Thorin softened his expression a bit and placed his hand on Dwalin’s shoulder, mirroring Dwalin’s position.

“You’re turning into a sap in your old age, my friend,” Thorin teased.

“Don’t interrupt me,” Dwalin growled and Thorin chuckled, dropping his hand. “I want ye to be happy, but if ye don’t stop this ridiculous pinin' I’m gonna shove yer crown so far up yer arse that---” 

“Goodnight, Dwalin,” Thorin shook Dwalin’s hand off his shoulder and continued towards the door to the Royal Wing.

“I mean it, Thorin,” Dwalin called after him and Thorin made a rude gesture with his hands without pausing his steps. He heard Dwalin grumble “goodnight” as he opened the heavy oak doors.

Once he had closed the doors behind him, he went straight into his nightly routine, without letting himself stop to think. 

He stripped out of all of his layers, focusing on folding each of them and placing them on a chair beside his bed. Then he sat on the edge of his bed, undid the beads from his hair and then moved onto loosening the braids. He tried to stop his mind from wandering, to focus on the movement of his fingers, but his muscles were too familiar with this, and he could feel his concentration leaving him. His thoughts soon drifted from the feeling of his own hair between his fingers, towards a burning curiosity of what it would feel like to have Bilbo’s hands gently pulling through his braids. The Hobbit probably had no familiarity with how to unbraid hair as quickly as Thorin did, but that simply meant Thorin would have to instruct him, giving them both more time to enjoy the intimacy that came with the braiding rituals. More time to lean into his Hobbit as Bilbo hummed into Thorin’s ear as he worked, maybe pressing his lips to the back of Thorin’s neck every so often, or hiding kisses in Thorin’s hair.

Thorin cursed, flopping back on the bed. He rolled over and pressed his face into the furs on his bed, willing his treacherous heart to stop pounding so loudly at the thought of Bilbo doing frankly _anything._

In the complete silence of his room, Thorin had nothing to distract him from the thoughts he tried so hard to ignore throughout the rest of the day. Thoughts filled with the deep honey of Bilbo’s eyes, and the clever flash in them whenever he was discussing flowers or food (or when he knew he was about to win an argument, which was most of the time). Thoughts of how Bilbo’s curls twisted just so around a pointed ear that Thorin was equally exasperated and utterly besotted with. The sound of Bilbo’s easy laugh, his light humming whenever he was reading or writing, the smell of soil and sunlight that filled Thorin with a calmness that he sought out at the end of each day and caught his mind drifting towards when his council sessions were particularly unruly. 

It was so much harder, to let himself give in to these thoughts. It meant having to face the reality that Bilbo would leave eventually, Bilbo would never want him, Bilbo deserved so much more. 

Thorin sighed into the furs and pressed his face in deeper. He wished it were as simple as Dwalin seemed to think. That he could just admit it all to Bilbo and he wouldn’t have to watch Bilbo try to figure out how to tell Thorin that would never be possible. He didn’t want to wait as the distance between them grew and grew until Bilbo made the announcement that the time had come for him to return home. 

But didn’t Bilbo deserve to know the truth? After everything the Hobbit had gone through, everything he had done for them, for _Thorin_. He had still remained, after all the perils he had been led through, away from his home, facing an uncertain future each day. All for them.

And still Thorin couldn’t muster the courage to tell him that every day he awoke more deeply in love with him than he had the night before? Was it not unfair to keep such a thing secret, especially from a friend? 

And Thorin _wanted_ Bilbo to know how he felt. He wanted that so badly that sometimes it felt like his whole body was humming in anticipation when he was near the Hobbit. As if every part of him _knew_ Bilbo was near and was trying to soak in as much of his presence as possible but it was never enough. It was never even nearly enough. 

_What would Bilbo want me to do?_ Thorin found himself thinking. It was a ridiculous thought, since Thorin didn’t know what was in the Hobbit’s head half the time. He was still surprising Thorin, even after so many months spent together in almost constant life-threatening situations. _He’d probably want me to get a proper night sleep and not keep myself up with worries that could be dealt with in the morning._

Thorin sighed. The only thing he could think to do now was to make sure that Bilbo’s Yule was as perfect as it could be away from his home. He just hoped it would be enough to show Bilbo how much he wanted Bilbo to stay with them past the end of winter. How much he truly wanted Bilbo to stay indefinitely, if he could be so persuaded.

Thorin drifted to sleep eventually, plans of decorations, feasts, and the sounds of Bilbo’s laughter in his thoughts. 

\----------------------------------------------------

 

It had been three days since Bilbo had finally mustered enough courage to decide on Thorin’s gift. And now he was running out of time. There was only two weeks left until the start of Yule and he had only just started the actual preparations for the gift. He bought the material, decided on a pattern, but somehow had to figure out how to get the size right, without Thorin finding out what he was up to. 

He was sneaking through the halls back to his room with a bundle of fabric when he ran into Dwalin. Well, collided with Dwalin, was more accurate. He hit the ground with an “oof”, sending the fabric in all directions, glaring up at the Dwalin, who hadn’t even swayed. Bilbo was about to tell him off when he noticed something he hadn’t thought to consider before. 

“What did ye do that for? Are ye alright?” Dwalin asked, offering a hand but Bilbo jumped to his feet and moved towards the Dwarf, eyebrows furrowed.

He held his hand out, sideways, just in front of Dwalin’s chest and moved it along as he counted. 

“Hmm,” Bilbo muttered as took a step back.

“What the hell do ye think yer doin'?” Dwalin asked incredulously. “Did ye hit yer head when ye fell?”

“This could just work…” Bilbo said to himself walking around Dwalin as the Dwarf tried to spin to keep up with him. “Hold still, would you?”

“Like hell, I will,” Dwalin growled. “What in Mahal’s name are you mutterin' for?”

“Oh, yes I think this will be just right,” Bilbo declared, prodding Dwalin’s arm. “Would you mind coming with me?”

“Where?” Dwalin asked warily, as Bilbo continued eyeing his torso. 

“My room, of course,” Bilbo replied absentmindedly. He took another step back and nodded. This was exactly what he needed. With a bit of luck and some speedy work, he could have this finished by the first Yuleday. “Not sure where else this could be done without Thorin finding out.” 

“Now hold on,” Dwalin said holding a hand up. “I’m not goin' anywhere until ye tell me what the hell is goin' on.”

Bilbo continued squinting at Dwalin, tapping his chin, deep in thought. “Has anyone ever told you, you have almost exactly the same proportions as Thorin?”

Dwalin blinked back at Bilbo. 

“Right… I think I should get ye to Óin now.”

“What? No, no I’m perfectly alright,” Bilbo waved his hand dismissively. “I just need to figure out Thorin’s measurements, and you look to be the closest out of the Company.” 

Bilbo motioned to the pile of fabric on the ground behind him. 

“It’s for the gift I’m making Thorin for Yule,” Bilbo explained, trying to calm the erratic beating of his heart that picked up whenever he thought about his ludicrous plan. “It shouldn’t take too long, I promise. And I’ll make you those scones you’re so fond of as payment?”

Bilbo knew Dwalin was convinced before the Dwarf even replied. He had figured out Dwalin’s weakness a few months ago with his first batch of pumpkin scones and had been waiting to exploit it ever since. 

“Fine… I have trainin with the new guards now. But I’ll come by before dinner.”

“Thank you Dwalin, really,” Bilbo sighed with relief. “But don’t tell Thorin. Promise me, you won’t mention this to Thorin.”

“I’m not dim,” Dwalin huffed. “I’m not about to be tellin Thorin that I’m visitin' your room. I like my limbs where they are.”

Bilbo narrowed his eyes at Dwalin and his nose twitched slightly but he nodded and turned to pick up the pile of fabric from the ground.

“Right, well. See that you keep to that. Or I’ll make sure the kitchen misplaces the recipe for those scones.”

Bilbo continued on to his room, ignoring Dwalin’s scowl and grumbling. He tried to focus on what his mother had taught him about sewing, and not think about what he would be doing in two weeks. The thought was still a bit daunting, but he had committed to it, and he was intent on seeing it through, consequences be damned. 

He took a deep breath to calm himself as he reached his room. He had a plan now, all he needed to do was see it through. If this was to be his first and last Yule in Erebor, he was going to do it correctly. It was high time he tell Thorin the truth, after all, and this was Bilbo’s best opportunity. And the best part was that Thorin would have no way of knowing that presenting a piece of handmade clothing on Yuletide was a courting practice for Hobbits. So if Bilbo’s nerves got the best of him, Thorin got a nice new tunic, and Bilbo got away without having to go through arguably the most daunting task he had ever set himself up for.

It couldn’t be Yuletide without a bit of overwhelming stress, after all.

\-----------------------------

Thorin glared at the eggs still on his plate. This was the second morning in a row that Bilbo had been at the Company table when Thorin had arrived, and left as soon as he saw Thorin, without even a word of greeting. 

Thorin tried all through the day yesterday to track Bilbo down, but each time he spotted the Hobbit, Bilbo had disappeared into a crowd of Dwarves, or turned a corner and vanished by the time Thorin reached it. It had left an ill feeling in his stomach the night before and Thorin had been determined to find the Hobbit and apologize for having upset him. But as soon as Thorin had made eye contact with Bilbo, he had slipped out of his chair and through the door before Thorin could reach him. 

“Have the eggs offended ye again?” Dwalin asked, through a mouthful of his own breakfast.

Thorin shot him an an unamused look but his attention was drawn to the door as it opened and Bilbo’s head peeked through.

“Dwalin?” he called from the door, not even stepping fully into the room.

Thorin watched as Dwalin shoved the last bit of food into his mouth and stood to follow Bilbo out of the room. Thorin gazed after them, his mouth hanging open in shock and confusion. But what was Dwalin doing for Bilbo? Had Thorin upset Bilbo so much that he had asked Dwalin to help him pack his things? Why else would Bilbo be avoiding Thorin so completely?

Thorin's chair scraped across the stone of the floor as he stood to leave, his mood considerably darkened since the beginning of the meal. There was no way this his week could get any worse.

 

\-----------------------------------------------

“That’s what you get,” Bilbo hissed through the pins in his mouth. “Now for the last time, stay _still._ ”

“I _am_ still, you bloody elf,” Dwalin replied, rubbing his side where Bilbo had just jabbed with a needle yet again. 

“I know you _think_ that’s an insult, but I expect that one will only work on Dwarves,” Bilbo continued to place needled along the seams of the tunic. 

All in all, it had taken Bilbo a week and a half to get the measurements correct and get the fabric to hang in the right way. He would have been done within three days, if Thorin hadn’t been around every corner, causing Bilbo to be extra cautious. He knew he couldn’t blame Thorin. Bilbo had been avoiding Thorin since he had begun working on the gift, his nerves getting the better of him. He could face down trolls and riddle with a dragon, but presenting Thorin with a gift of courtship? 

Bilbo had to take a deep breath to still the shaking in his hand. Poor Dwalin had already been on the receiving end of a few misplaced pins, though most of them had been the Dwarf’s own fault for being so fidgety. 

“One more pin…” Bilbo breathed. 

“Thank Mahal,” Dwalin muttered above him. 

Bilbo pushed the final pin into its place, nestling it between the rich midnight blue fabric and the satin silver hem. He stood up and walked a few feet away before turning to appraise his work.

The tunic fell just above Dwalin’s knees, the silver hem catching the light from the candle and shimmering against the dark cloth. With Dwalin’s guidance, Bilbo had stitched the emblem of Durin across one arm, a stylized raven on the other, and a geometric pattern across the chest, incorporating the traditional seven stars.

“That’s… quite nice, actually.“ Bilbo paused for a moment and then sighed and sat down on his bed heavily. He dropped his head into his hands and groaned. “What am I thinking? This isn’t good enough. Thorin is a _King_ , I must be out of my mind.”

“Don’t ye start that again…” Dwalin warned, moving to step off the low stool he had been standing on.

“Don’t move!” Bilbo yelped, jumping up to keep Dwalin on the stool. “It’s not all sewn yet.” He muttered, fussing with the fabric.

“Bilbo, for Mahal’s sake,” Dwalin groaned. “Thorin has been moony about ye since the Quest. Ye could have given him a blade o’ grass and he would’ve kept in with him for the rest o’ his life.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, he hasn’t been _moony_ about me,” Bilbo blushed, still pulling on the cloth nervously. 

Dwalin slapped his hands away. “I am not arguin with ye on this,” he insisted. “I have put up with you two pinin fer too long. I’ve had it. Yer drivin everyone else crazy with how oblivious ye both are. I thought Hobbits were supposed to be clever?” 

Dwalin finished his ranting and Bilbo simply stared up at him, eyebrows furrowed.

“Dwalin, do you have any idea what the significance behind this gift is?” Bilbo asked quietly and Dwalin threw his hands up. Well he tried to, but Bilbo yanked his arms back down with a warning glare. 

“Giving someone the gift of clothing that has been personally made by the giver it’s… it’s not simply a gift,” Bilbo licked his lips, which had gone quite dry. He took a few steps back until he felt the edge of his bed against his legs and sat down again. He waited until the rushing sound in his ears had subsided before he looked back up at Dwalin.

“By giving Thorin this tunic, I’m asking him to start a courtship with me,” Bilbo finished. It was the first time he had said the words out loud, and he was expecting the finality of the admission to make his nerves even more on edge. But Bilbo felt lighter, as if it had only been a dream still pulling him down and he hadn’t quite woken up yet. But now... it was real.

The warmth that had begun to radiate through his bones was cut off by the crushing squeeze of Dwalin’s arms around him.

“Ack!” Was the only sound Bilbo could make, in an attempt to free himself from the vice-like grip. He stopped squirming when he heard Dwalin sniffle.

“Dwalin?! Dwalin, are you alright? Are you crying?” Bilbo questioned.

“Thank you,” Dwalin sniffed. “Thank you, Bilbo.” He said it with such sincerity that Bilbo patted his arm comfortingly.

“Alright, alright, don’t get tears on the tunic, if you please,” Bilbo reminded, blushing deeper now. “I’m not exactly sure why you’re thanking me, but just… don’t wrinkle the fabric?”

Dwalin huffed a teary laugh and set Bilbo back down. His eyes were misty and he smiled widely at Bilbo. He held his arms out to show the that tunic had survived the movement but then grabbed Bilbo by the shoulders and knocked his forehead against Bilbo’s.

“Ye’ve got _no_ idea, Bilbo,” Dwalin laughed. “No idea.”

“Well, I rather hope I do,” Bilbo chuckled, tugging on the fabric gently. “Or else this has been a colossal waste of time.”

“How are ye gonna do it?” Dwalin asked, wiping his eyes with his hands. “When is Yule? Do ye have to wait? Can’t ye do it now?”

“No, no, it must be done on the first or last Yuleday…”

“Ye’ll do it on the first,” Dwalin said with a barely contained threat in his tone. “Just… do it on the first day, aye?”

Bilbo sighed and eyed the tunic again. There really was no point in putting it off now. His fate was sealed. The tunic was basically complete.

“Yes, alright,” Bilbo acquiesced and dodged out of the way before Dwalin could pull him into another life-threatening embrace. “Now, that’s enough of that. Get back on the stool. I still have work to do.”

Dwalin gave a mock bow and stepped back on to the stool, his barely concealed glee seeping out in periodic giggles. 

“I _will_ poke you,” Bilbo reminded, but his own smile could not be held back. The excitement that he had felt when he first decided to make the tunic for Thorin, and therefore ask to begin a courtship, had returned, pushing aside his nerves. 

The image of Thorin in the deep blue and glistening silver of the tunic made his hands shake slightly again, but this time out of excitement, no longer out of nerves.

This was going to be a Yule to remember.

\---------

Thorin paced the room restlessly. He had barely seen Bilbo in the past week, and at this point he was worried something was seriously wrong. Bilbo barely left his room outside of meals and working in the library with Ori. Thorin had tried to give Bilbo his space, after numerous failed attempts at trying to confront the Hobbit, but Bilbo had still been as distant as he had a fortnight ago. To add to Thorin’s worry and confusion, Dwalin had taken to clapping Thorin on the shoulder whenever he ran into him in the hall. Mealtimes were even worse, as Bilbo would grab his food with only a “hello” and “goodbye” directed at the Company, and Dwalin would watch Thorin with a large grin. When Thorin had questioned Dwalin on his strange behavior, he had simply pulled Thorin into a tight hug and walked away, giggling.

Thorin knew tonight was the start of Bilbo’s Yule, yet Bilbo had yet to arrive to the Company room. The room which Thorin had made sure was decorated with all the greenery the Company could find, and all of the instruments were tucked into one corner, ready for a night of music and food. 

He sat down in a chair by the fire as the other members of the Company conversed and laughed at the table. Only Dwalin and Ori remained by the fire. Dwalin greeted him with another large grin and barely stifled giggle.

“Óin?” Thorin called over his shoulder. It took four other members of the Company repeated his name, but Thorin waited until he heard a “Yes, Your Majesty?”

“When you have time, would you mind checking on Dwalin? I fear he is broken.”

Dwalin only giggled again, causing Ori to shift away from him as discreetly as he could manage.

Thorin heard the door open, and whipped his head around to see who had arrived. It was the last of the Company, Fíli and Kíli, entering with their arms full of packages. Thorin stood to greet them, offering to take some of the packages that were threatening to slip from Fíli’s grip.

“Happy Yool!” Kíli declared with a bright smile.

“Yule, it’s _Yule_ ,” Thorin’s heart skipped a beat as he heard Bilbo’s voice, hidden behind Fíli and Kíli and the mass of packages. “But, yes Happy Yule to you all.”

As Fíli and Kíli moved for the table, Bilbo appeared, dressed in dark, midnight blue vest with a cream shirt. For the first time in two weeks, Bilbo smiled at Thorin, albeit shyly, but it still caught Thorin off guard.

“Happy Yule, Thorin,” he offered.

Thorin blinked at him and Bilbo’s smile faltered a bit.

“Happy…” Thorin began too loudly, and cleared his throat to start again. “Happy Yule, Bilbo.”

Bilbo smiled again, brighter, and Thorin could feel the rest of the Company staring but he didn’t care. He smiled back at Bilbo, and it was as if the last two weeks had never happened. Bilbo was smiling at him, with that kindness in his honey eyes that made Thorin melt.

Bilbo broke his gaze first, to look around the room, and his eyes widened.

“Did you… did you all do this for Yule?” he asked, turning all the way around to see each piece of greenery that the Company had managed to attach to the door, mantle, chairs, and table. 

“No,” Fíli said, letting the packages tumble onto the table. “We did it for you. We know how much this Yule means to you, Bilbo.”

“Do you like it?” Kíli asked eagerly.

Bilbo didn’t answer for a moment, still taking in the room around him. He eyes settled on Thorin for a moment and held his gaze, just long enough for Thorin’s breath to start speeding up, but then he looked to the Company. “It’s perfect. Thank you all so much.”

“Do we get to open the presents then?” Kíli asked.

“Kíli, don’t be rude,” Thorin admonished, but Bilbo laughed.

“Well, traditionally presents come last, but if you like, we can open them now.”

“No,” Thorin shook his head, ignoring Kíli’s pleading eyes. “We will do this Yule properly. I believe you mentioned a feast?”

Cheers rang out from the Company and Bilbo raised an eyebrow at Thorin. Thorin simply shrugged.

“We’ve been preparing for some time now,” Thorin admitted.

“So I see,” Bilbo chuckled. “If I had known… well I suppose that was my own fault.” 

Thorin held up a hand to stop him. He was determined to keep the smile on Bilbo’s face, and he knew only one sure way to do that at the moment.

“Let us feast for now, the rest can come later,” Thorin promised. Sure enough, Bilbo grinned and nodded, following Thorin to the table. He took a seat between Ori and Bofur, to Thorin’s disappointment, but the feast was merry enough and the Company quickly cleared most of the dishes that Bombur had prepared. And when Thorin caught Bilbo’s eye, he didn’t immediately look away. He smiled, Thorin realized how much he had missed that smile in those two weeks, and there was something in his gaze that made Thorin’s pulse quicken. What had happened between this morning when Bilbo has skipped breakfast altogether, to now when Bilbo was laughing freely at something Bofur had said, and glancing over at Thorin almost as often as Thorin was glancing at him? Did it have anything to do with Dwalin’s erratic behavior? Was this simply what Hobbits did during Yuletide?

“Laddie, he’s not going anywhere,” Balin, seated at Thorin’s right, said quietly. “Are you not hungry?”

Thorin glanced sheepishly at Balin, and returned his focus to his plate. He didn’t look up again until he heard the sound of a clarinet and a viol. Dwalin and Bofur had found their instruments and had started to play a quick-paced tune.

The other Dwarves clapped along, some staying at the table, others moving in front of the fire for more comfortable chairs. Thorin was hoping to claim a spot on the couch for himself and Bilbo, but Bilbo was still engaged in a conversation with Ori and Bifur and Bombur had already stretched out across the couch, limbs dangling off as they clutched their full stomachs and tapped their feet to the music. Balin gave his ribs a nudge and motioned over to the stock of instruments with a questioning raise of an eyebrow.  
“Perhaps something a bit more peaceful before the post-gift celebration kicks in?” he asked Thorin who shook his head at first. But Fíli and Kíli had overheard Balin’s request and jumped on the bandwagon to hound their uncle.

“Please, Uncle? We haven’t hear you play in ages!” Kíli pleaded. 

“I played just the other night, Kíli,” Thoríin reminded him but now Bilbo had looked up from his conversation with Ori, and he knew he was doomed.

“Yes, but that was in your own room and you didn’t think anyone was listening, so it doesn’t count.” Fíli insisted.

“Bilbo, tell Uncle you’d like to hear him play for your Yool!” Kíli said and Thorin met Bilbo’s eyes once again.

“That would be quite the treat, if he is willing,” Bilbo said, the ale and the feast giving his cheeks a slight flush and Thorin couldn’t have said no, even if he really was unwilling.

Thorin nodded and rose, taking the harp as Dwalin handed it to him. Dori vacated the armchair so that Thorin could play comfortably.

With the warmth of the fire at his side, Thorin plucked the strings once or twice before playing a tune that his mother always played around midwinter. It was a fair-paced tune, familiar to his ears and fingers, and he soon fell into the transfixing rhythm. When he finished, he looked up to see the rest of the Company had gathered around the fire and were crowded together on the couch and various chairs. Bilbo had brought a chair from the table and was seated next to Dwalin, across from the fire. He was watching Thorin, expression unreadable as the fire caught in his eyes, and casted a warm glow over his features. 

Thorin swallowed, taking a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding, as Bilbo held his gaze. He barely noticed the sound of the Company applauded him until Balin placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“You sound just like her, you know,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye and Thorin smiled warmly up at his friend.

“That is a very kind lie,” he chuckled, but the compliment settled comfortably in his chest. 

“Is it time for presents _now_?” This time the question came from Dwalin and Thorin noticed Bilbo break his gaze away from Thorin to narrow his eyes at Dwalin.

“Yes, yes,” he conceded, standing from his chair. “It is high time for gifts.”

The rest of the Company got up to retrieve the gifts they had hidden around the room, and Bilbo laughed in surprise.

“I should have known,” he said with a fond shake of his head. Thorin pulled his own gifts down from the mantle, hidden by the piles of greenery. 

The exchange was appropriately chaotic, and by the time everyone had settled back into their places, everyone had their own sizeable pile of oddly shaped and even more oddly wrapped packages. The unwrapping was even more chaotic with various exclamations of excitement and shouts of thanks. Crumbled parchment was flung back and forth and amid the noise and laughter, Thorin reached into his pocket to make sure that his gift for Bilbo still remained securely tucked away. He had yet to open the small, notecard that Bilbo had handed him with a single nod, more worried that Bilbo would notice Thorin had not gifted him anything yet. 

He saved the note for last, and glanced up at Bilbo before he opened it, but Bilbo quickly looked away when he noticed what Thorin was holding. Thorin frowned, and tilted the writing towards the fire to better read the words inside.

_Thorin,_

_Your gift is a bit too big to be opened in front of an audience. If it is not too much of an inconvenience, would you please stay until the rest have departed?_

_Yours,  
Bilbo_

Thorin looked up, brows furrowed in questioning, but Bilbo’s attention were on the recipe card he had gifted Bombur, explaining that it was one of his mother’s favorite cake recipes that he thought Bombur would enjoy making and eating.

Only Dwalin was looking back at Thorin, and even from across the room Thorin could tell that he was practically bouncing in his seat.

“Alright, everyone finished? Aye? Right, off to bed with the lot of ye!” Dwalin declared, rising from his chair and looking at Bilbo pointedly. Bilbo looked up, panic clear in his eyes, shaking his head minutely at Dwalin. Dwalin simply glared and nodded fiercely. 

“But what about music? And drinking? It’s hardly time for bed yet, Dwalin!” Fíli protested.

“Yes, very good point Fíli,” Bilbo agreed, though his voice quivered slightly. “It’s not a true Yule celebration without music and drinking, you see.”

“We’ve had drinkin’ and we’ve had music already,” Dwalin pointed out. “We’ve Yuled about as well as we can Yule.”

“Dwalin if you’re too tired, you can go to bed early,” Bofur teased, from his spot draped across an armchair. “The rest of us not elderly-folk will stay up and have fun.”

Dwalin kicked the leg of his armchair. “Fine, three more songs. And then we’re done.”

He pointed at Bilbo meaningfully and Bilbo nodded, rolling his eyes. 

Thorin tried to sit back in his chair as Bofur, Fíli, Kíli started a raucous drinking song, but his heart was beating too quickly to pay much attention to the song. What could be so big that he couldn’t open it in front of the Company? And why would Bilbo give him something so much bigger than the rest of the gifts he had given to the Company? Three songs seemed like the entirety of the day to Thorin, and he drummed his fingers impatiently on the arms of his chair. Bilbo was looking everywhere in the room except for where Thorin sat, and his hands worried a bit parchment that had been used for wrapping. He was obviously nervous about something, but Thorin had no idea what Bilbo would have to be nervous about. He was supposed to be enjoying this night, not fretting about whatever was worrying him. 

By the end of the second song, Thorin’s hands were digging into the arms of the chaid and his foot was tapping the floor erratically. The noise in the Company’s room had grown steadily as the dancing had begun and the music had grown more and more out of tune as the drinking continued. Bofur had set his clarinet down and pulled Bilbo out of his seat for a dance, putting a smile back on the Hobbit’s face. Thorin was glad to see it, and kicked himself for not asking him to dance himself. But the third song was already halfway through and Thorin’s stomach was doing cartwheels in anticipation. He clapped with the rest of the Company when the song ended and could have hugged Dwalin when he slammed his mug down on the table and roared,

“Alright, Happy Yule, grab yer gifts and get the hell out!” He went to grab his own pile but not before grabbing Bilbo by both of his shoulders and giving him a meaningful look. Bilbo nodded, visibly taking a deep breath and offering Dwalin a shaky smile.

Thorin turned the key over and over in his pocket, trying not to imagine the worst: that Bilbo was hoping for privacy to tell Thorin that he had decided the time had come for him to leave.

When Dwalin finished with Bilbo he strode over the Thorin and grinned widely. He stayed like that for a moment, smiling at Thorin, before he knocked their foreheads together and, with one final giggle, collected his gifts and walked with Balin out of the Company’s room. The various wishes of “Happy Yule” died down as more and more of the Dwarves shuffled out of the room, carrying odd armfuls of gifts and swaggering ever so slightly. Fíli and Kíli continued to sing even as they too left the room, leaving only Bilbo, Thorin, and the crackling fire along in the room.

 

They were silent for a moment, Bilbo watching the fire, until Thorin cleared his throat.

“I hope our version of Yule was not too far off the Shire’s,” he began, squeezing the key even tighter inside his pocket.

Bilbo tore his gaze away from the fire to meet Thorin’s eyes, and Thorin could see the worry in the set of Bilbo’s jaw and the wrinkle atop his brow.

“I think feasting and drinking is something Dwarves and Hobbits have no trouble understanding,” Bilbo chuckled lightly and the sound gave Thorin a bit more courage. He relaxed his grip on the key and took a step towards Bilbo, who made no movement away from him.

“I apologize for not giving you your present during the celebrations,” Thorin began. “But I think you will understand why when you see it.”

“You got me a present?” Bilbo asked. “I thought… I thought the song you played…”

 

“You thought playing the harp was my gift to you?” Thorin interrupted. “I was unaware you were so fond of the instrument.”

Bilbo shuffled awkwardly. “Er, yes. I am. Quite fond of it, that is. Of the harp, I mean.” 

“Are you feeling well?” Thorin asked asked as Bilbo swayed a bit.

Bilbo laughed shortly. “No, I’m fairly certain I’m rather insane, but it’s really too late to do anything about that now.” He replied before taking a deep breath and closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he looked at Thorin with that same look he had over dinner. “I suppose putting this off any longer won’t do either of us any good so, I’d like to give you your gift now.”

Thorin nodded. “I would like to do the same, though I think yours should probably come first.”

“You really didn’t need to get me anything, Thorin,” Bilbo reiterated. “You’ve already given me a home and… and…” 

Thorin’s heart felt like it might just leap out of his chest and he didn’t even try to stop the smile that spread across his face.

“You mean you aren’t leaving?” Thorin asked hopefully. “I had thought…”

“Leaving? Of course I’m not leaving,” Bilbo said, shaking his head in confusion. “What on Arda made you think that… oh. Oh, no Thorin, I am sorry.” Bilbo scrubbed his hands over his face. “I’ve already mucked this up. I know my behavior as of late has been rather odd. But I was… well I was working on that.” Bilbo pointed in the direction of the armchair Thorin had been sitting on.

“The chair?”

Bilbo shook his head. “Your gift. It’s under the chair.”

Thorin frowned in confusion but turned away from Bilbo and knelt to run a hand beneath the chair. There was only a small gap between the base of the chair and the floor, only just enough room for Thorin’s hand to fit underneath and connect with a package. He grabbed an end and brought the package from underneath the chair, no less confused.

“I know the note said it was too big to open… and well it is, just not in size.” Bilbo tried to explain but Thorin still did not understand. 

“Oh, just open it,” Bilbo said, wringing his hands together.

Thorin sat on the chair and carefully slit the parchment with the dagger from his boot. The paper fell away to reveal a velvety, deep blue tunic, almost identical to the color Bilbo was wearing. The fabric was so fine and smooth that it ran easily through Thorin’s fingers until it was completely unfolded before him. 

Thorin’s breath caught.

Stitched along the arms were the emblems of his family’s house as well as a raven with wings that stretched the length of the seven stars stitched in silver ink above it. Across the chest was a pattern that also cleverly hid stars between different shapes, and the hem and neck were a glimmering silver material that held the light of the fire as Thorin moved the tunic about.

“Bilbo,” Thorin breathed, unsure how exactly Bilbo had managed it all. “How… when did you… why…”

Bilbo held up a hand to pause Thorin’s stammering. 

“Before you accept this gift, you need to know the meaning behind it. Once you know, you are free to accept or decline and we will… well I guess we will just decide where to go from there.”

Thorin glanced around the tunic to see Bilbo, still standing, swallow heavily. Thorin was once again struck by how the light of the fire played off the warmth of his eyes and gold of his hair. Despite the unbelievable beauty of the tunic still held up in his hands, Thorin was completely bewitched by the sight of Bilbo standing in front of him.

“There is a Yule tradition among Hobbits that I have not told you about,” he continued. “And admittedly, I should have told you this… a long time ago.” Bilbo cleared his throat nervously. “Among Hobbits, the gift of clothing, made specifically by the giver for the receiver during Yule is…” A deep breath. “It’s an offering of courtship.” Bilbo said and the faltering left his voice. Thorin stopped breathing. “By offering you this tunic, that I have made for Yuletide, I am asking, Thorin Oakenshield, for permission to begin courting you.”

Thorin stared at Bilbo. Moments passed. Seconds turned to minutes and Thorin still held the tunic in front of him, he still stared, and he still remained silent.

“Um,” Bilbo coughed quietly. “Are… are you breathing?”

Thorin inhaled through his nose. Time rushed back into the scene and Thorin stood abruptly, clutching the tunic. 

Bilbo broke the silence again.

“I’m… it’s ok, Thorin. I understand.” he began, and Thorin was vaguely aware that he should speak, somewhere in the back of his mind. “It was… it was silly of me, I… please keep the tunic though,” Bilbo stopped as Thorin turned, folded the tunic, and set it reverently on the chair. He then crossed the distance between him and Bilbo in two strides and swept him up into his arms. 

“Oof!” Bilbo said and Thorin held him as closely as he possibly could, all the times he had longed to hold Bilbo like this pulsing through his veins, pounding in his ears. He couldn't possibly think of a good enough reason to ever let go again.

“Is this real... “ Thorin buried his face into the crook of Bilbo’s neck and laughed in disbelief. Any moment now he would wake up, realizing it had all been a dream. But Thorin had never, ever dreamed Bilbo would ask to court _him._ His Bilbo, _Bilbo who was still in his arms,_ had asked to court _Thorin._

Bilbo laughed then, his arms having found their way around Thorin’s neck, holding on for dear life. 

“You’re tickling me!” he said breathlessly, but Thorin simply nuzzled his face against Bilbo’s skin, causing the Hobbit to squawk and try squirm away from Thorin half-heartedly. When Thorin finally set him down, they were both laughing through teary eyes. 

“I’m sorry, is that a yes?” Bilbo grinned. 

“Yes,” Thorin answered, bringing his hands up to cup Bilbo’s face. “Yes,” he said as he inched in further and Bilbo’s eyes widened. “Yes,” he breathed before brushing lightly against Bilbo’s lips.

It was like nothing Thorin had ever felt before. How many times had he been distracted by the thought of Bilbo’s lips? How many times had he watched the Hobbit speak, lost to the words, only imagining how soft those lips would feel against his own? 

And here Bilbo was, breath warm against Thorin’s face, leaning in and standing on his tip toes to reach Thorin better. It was sweeter than any dream, it was more than Thorin had ever dared to hope for beyond his daydreams. 

Thorin pulled back slightly to make sure this wasn’t too much for Bilbo, but Bilbo simply moved with Thorin, not allowing any space to be put between them. Thorin grinned. He pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s nose, his brow, his cheeks, each kiss making Thorin a bit dizzier. With one final pause, Thorin pulled Bilbo a bit higher, to relieve his legs from straining to reach Thorin, and pressed against Bilbo’s lips with all the longing and admiration, all the ache and love he had felt for the Hobbit for so long. Bilbo breathed in and clung to Thorin a bit tighter, his feet leaving the ground completely as Thorin leaned back. Bilbo’s lips tasted like the sweet cream pastries that just had and Thorin’s senses were filled with that familiar smell that was so comfortingly Bilbo that it made Thorin’s knees wobble.  
Bilbo broke away to blink up at Thorin. “Are you quite sure?” he asked and Thorin set him down, without moving any farther away than he needed to, to fish the key out of his pocket.

“This was my gift to you,” Thorin said, voice a bit hoarse, eyes never leaving Bilbo. “It fits a room that has just been finished in the Royal Wings. I was going to present this to you, in hopes that you would like it so much that you would decide to stay with us. With me.”  
Bilbo’s eyes widened. “You made me a room?” he asked incredulously.

Thorin nodded. “Well, I remodeled a room. To any Dwarf, that would be as good a proposition of courtship as any. A fact that I was going to work myself up to admit to you… eventually.”

“After I had fallen in love with the room, I assume?” Bilbo raised an eyebrow and Thorin laughed.

“Either that, or with me, though I was hopeful for both,” Thorin said, tucking the key into Bilbo’s waistcoat pocket. “The room is, of course, still yours, should you wish to use it. Though… I can think of more appropriate rooms for you to stay in now.”

Bilbo laughed. “Is that so? I was under the impression Dwarven courting rules would be a bit more strict.”

Thorin groaned and rested his forehead against Bilbo’s. “Damn the rules,” he said half joking, though half of him desperately agreed with that sentiment. “And how do you know so much about Dwarven courtships?”

“Telling Dwalin may not have been the wisest choice, in hindsight, but he did fill me in on the basics,” Bilbo said as his hands came up to move through Thorin’s beard and rest on either side of his face.Thorin’s eyes closed and for a moment he was completely lost to the sensation of Bilbo’s fingers running through his beard, his hands soft and warm against his skin. He hummed contentedly until he fully processed what Bilbo had said.

“You told Dwalin?” Thorin questioned. “How long has he known?”

“I needed someone to help get the size of the tunic right,” Bilbo admitted sheepishly. “And once I divulged what the tunic was for, Dwalin… well he was very enthusiastic about the idea.” 

“That answers so many of my questions for the past two weeks,” Thorin chuckled. “Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“Yes,” Bilbo winced. “I am sorry for that. I wasn’t sure I was going to have the nerve to do this at all until a few days ago.”

“I am glad you did, my brave Hobbit,” Thorin smiled and pressed a lingering, but sweet kiss to Bilbo’s lips. It was then an idea occurred to him.

“I would think, seeing as Dwalin has already had the privilege, that I should be allowed to try on my tunic?” Thorin questioned, hiding his mischievous tone in the line of kisses he drawing down Bilbo’s cheek, towards his jaw. 

“What? Oh, yes, of course,” Bilbo answered a bit breathlessly, sending a shiver down Thorin’s spine.

“I also think,” Thorin began, as his lips moved to tease the bottom of Bilbo’s ear, drawing a shaky breath from Bilbo.

“You’re doing an awful lot of thinking,” Bilbo complained and Thorin chuckled against his skin. 

“I also think,” Thorin repeated. “That since it is from your hands, you should help me put it on,” Thorin whispered into Bilbo’s ear and he grinned as Bilbo’s hands tangled in his hair.  
“Oh, well,” Bilbo said, pulling just slightly, and Thorin felt the temperature in the room had risen significantly, as if the fire had just been stoked to a roaring blaze. “If you’re to keep having such clever ideas…”

Thorin moved his lips a bit lower, meeting the smooth white skin of Bilbo’s neck with the softest of kisses. Bilbo sighed and leaned his neck to the side a bit more, giving Thorin more access. It was not an invitation that Thorin was willing to decline and he pressed a second kiss to the same spot, this time with a bit more pressure and he was unable to stop the groan that Bilbo’s hands tightening in his hair had pulled from him. He would have been embarrassed by the noise if it had not led to a quiet moan from Bilbo that went straight to the pit of Thorin’s stomach and curled pleasantly.

Thorin pulled back, enough to look at Bilbo, and the sight chipped away dangerously at his already failing self control. Bilbo’s pupil’s were completely blown, his mouth opened slightly, looking at Thorin with the same disbelieving adoration and want that Thorin has worried was in his own eyes far too often when he looked at Bilbo.

“Would you do me the honor of dressing me in the tunic you have made for me, âzyungel?” Thorin asked.

“What does that mean?” Bilbo asked, eyes instantly lighting and Thorin smiled fondly. 

He pressed another kiss to Bilbo’s lips, unable to resist for too long. “It means,” another kiss, a bit longer this time. “Love of all loves.” A third kiss, becoming deeper as the seconds passed. One of Thorin’s hands moved to the back of Bilbo’s neck, pulling him just that much closer. Bilbo’s hands untangled from Thorin’s hair, and Thorin made a noise of protest against Bilbo’s lips. He was fascinated that he was able to feel Bilbo smile though, and his tongue traveled gently along the curve, daring to taste the smile that had stolen his heart. Bilbo responded instantly, opening his mouth a bit more with another soft moan as his hands continued to travel down Thorin’s back. His hands had just reached the hem of Thorin’s tunic, bunching up the fabric as he lifted, when a knock at the door caused Bilbo to release the fabric and pull back in surprise. They looked at each other for a moment, questioning whether or not they had actually heard a sound at all, when a second knock came. Thorin closed his eyes in exasperation and pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s nose before he stomped over to the door, not even bothering to smooth his hair or straighten his tunic before yanking the door open.  
\-------------------------------------

“Oh! Hello, King Thorin,” Bilbo could hear Ori’s voice, but couldn’t see him from around Thorin. “Terribly sorry, I… forgot my notebook… but um, I I’ll just come back later.”  
“One moment, please Ori,” Thorin said and Bilbo could hear the strained politeness of his tone. He walked back into the room to fetch Ori’s notebook, still on the table by the couch. Bilbo remained standing, swaying slightly, but he waved to Ori with a smile.

Ori gave him a thumbs up and a bright smile while Thorin’s back was turned, but quickly shifted to a completely neutral expression once Thorin turned around. 

“Goodnight, Master Ori,” Thorin said and Ori barely had time to reply with a “goodnight” of his own before Thorin had closed the door. The giggle that had threatened to burst from Bilbo through the exchange finally broke free as Thorin made his way back over to Bilbo with a shake of his head. Bilbo leaned his head against Thorin’s chest and continued to giggle. Thorin wrapped his arms around him and pulled him in tight, wrapping in Bilbo in a warmth that he had only known by the few embraces he had shared with Thorin. This one was different though, the space between them nonexistent and much warmer, as Bilbo’s giggles died down and Thorin buried his nose in Bilbo’s curls. 

“I can’t believe this is real,” Bilbo admitted into Thorin’s dark brown tunic, bringing his own arms around Thorin’s torso, clutching the material of his tunic.

Thorin kissed the top of his head. “I have dreamt of this,” he heard Thorin whisper into his curls and Bilbo hid a smile against his chest. “But I had never thought that you could ever… I had not dared to hope…” Thorin slipped into silence for a moment and Bilbo listened to steady beat of his heart against his ear.  


“How long?” Thorin asked and Bilbo didn’t answer at first. He had wondered the same thing himself, for awhile. 

“I’m not sure, to be honest. I think… I think I had an inkling all along. From when you first barged through my door.” Bilbo chuckled. “But I don’t think I fully realized it until…”  


Bilbo’s arms tightened reflexively around Thorin. “Until I thought it was too late.”  


Thorin brought one hand up to brush through the curls against Bilbo’s face and Bilbo looked up to see the too-familiar sadness and guilt in Thorin’s eyes.  


“No, none of that,” Bilbo warned. “It is still Yule. There will be no sadness on Yule.”  


Thorin chuckled. “My dearest Hobbit, how could I possibly be sad with you in my arms?”  


“Oh dear, I’m terribly sorry but there’s also no sappiness on Yule,” Bilbo teased, his cheeks beginning to hurt from smiling so much.  


“Oh, I see,” Thorin said with mock solemnity. “Are there any other Yuletides traditions I should know about? I have found them quite to my liking so far.”  


“Ah, yes, as a matter of fact,” Bilbo nodded. “If you break a tradition, which unfortunately you have, you must repay your mistakes with kisses. I don’t make the rules.”  


“But you will enforce them?” Thorin whispered as he leaned towards Bilbo.  


“With pleasure,” Bilbo assured, a cheeky grin spreading across his face as he stretched on his tiptoes.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank baegginoakenshield for saving my sanity and the fate of this fic. I am hoping to make this a part of a series that will feature Akhluma’râsu and much more schmoop.


End file.
